


Together

by Merilsell



Series: Lenyaverse: Sidestories [4]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Awkwardness, Budding Love, F/M, First Kiss, Holding Hands, Introspection, Lenya Mahariel, Lenyaverse, POV Alistair, POV Third Person Limited, Pining, Romance, Stream of Consciousness, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Touch-Starved, Touching, Vignettes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-02
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-05-30 23:43:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15107237
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merilsell/pseuds/Merilsell
Summary: Her hands were different than his. Of course this was not the only disparity between his fellow Warden and himself, him being human and she Dalish. But touch was a strange new concept for Alistair and thus why this detail of her had burned itself so deeply into his mind.- A love story, told in seven short vignettes. Alistair-centric and prompt-fill for my dear friend Hailey (blarfshnorgull), who is loving Lenyastair as much as I do, if not more <3





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [blarfshnorgull](https://archiveofourown.org/users/blarfshnorgull/gifts).



> Events told here are non-canon to my long-fic and simplified to fit the shorter format. However, they are inspired by my personal fic canon, of course. Alistair's POV, all through. Close third, prompt fill.

Her hands were different than his. Of course this was not the only disparity between his fellow Warden and himself, him being human and she Dalish. But touch was a strange new concept for Alistair and thus why this detail of her had burned itself so deeply into his mind.

Much smaller in size, Lenya's hands still did the same work like his, equally as strong and deft. Perhaps even more so than his own fumbling ones. Her hands firmly grasped around the hilts of her twin blades, she slashed through flesh, rotten or not, in an intricate, lethal motion. Within them lay the power to take lives, but also to save them; to soothe, to heal.

Always clad in armor from head to toe, fighting for their lives each day, touches were a rare, precious thing. The first of them between both Wardens happened by accident, when they were reaching for the plates next to the small cookfire in camp. It wasn't something special, a moment barely noticeable in passing. Yet the accidental touch, the sensation lingered with him all through the meal, his brown cheeks not only flushed by the warming stew.


	2. Hands

The next time happened a few weeks later, again in camp. With everything prepared and set up, they finally had a few peaceful moments; a luxury during the Blight. Alistair relieved the stress of the road and constant struggle to survive in playing fetch with Revas. The mabari bounded after the large stick and quickly returned like many times prior, but now was unwilling to part with his wooden prey.

He should have known better than to attempt to get the stick back from the large dog by force, really. After all, he was a warhound trained to kill, with razor-sharp fangs. In hindsight, this had been a terrible, terrible idea from the start. Alas, Alistair only gained it  _after_  the hound snapped at him, drawing blood.

"Ow!"

Alerted by his outcry, Lenya appeared next to him. "What is this about?"

"Your hound, he  _snapped_  at me!" Pouting, he showed her the wounded finger. It wasn't a big deal, a shallow scratch from the finger's tip to its middle. Still, he sought her empathy, yearned for it. "Look!"

She shook her head with a small smile, smelling of armor polish and leather as she stepped closer to him. "There is hardly any blood, puppy. You can be glad to still have your finger attached." Her gaze shifted to the mabari and narrowed, who whined and cowered under its sharpness. "Still, Revas shouldn't have done that."

"That will teach me to play fetch with a ward-" His self-pity and pout ended in a gasp as she took his hand into both of hers; the touch sudden, surprising. Her hands were a bit rough, fingertips calloused by swordmanship, like his own. The warmth of them and the firmness of her grip at the back of his hand were what let his words die, stuck in his throat. It was... nice, being touched in kind, by her. By anyone, really. The last time that happened had been with Duncan, who gave his shoulder a fatherly clasp right before – Alistair glanced away and blinked faster to clear his eyes from unwanted tears, even as the grief lingered.

Two of her fingertips brushed over the middle of his palm, before grasping his wounded finger, leading it upwards. His attention snapped back sharp and sudden when something hot and wet enclosed his finger. "W-what?" he managed, blinking anew, but for an entirely different reason. His heartbeat sped up, chased into a flurry by the unexpected sensation.

There she stood, sucked at the scratch at his finger and quickly spitting out the blood drawn, as if it was the most natural and  _logical_  thing to do. Maker. This was how he would die, wasn't it? Any moment now, his cheeks would combust and set him on fire, burning as they already were. It would be a mercy, really.

She released his hand from both her mouth and grasp, before he could hyperventilate and pass out, thankfully. What was that about, just now? He opened his mouth to speak, but was unable to form coherent words. Or thoughts, for that matter.

"Your blood isn't poisonous to me," she stated, shrugging.

"Well, I sure hope my blood isn't poisonous in general." Alistair cleared his throat, still struggled to grasp the weirdness of it all. "Is this... a Dalish form of treatment?"

"Nah..." She wrinkled her nose and spat on the ground once more. "I was just too lazy to fetch water to clean your scratch."

Ah, so it was just a Lenya thing. Good to know. He watched as she rummaged in her belt bag, bringing forth a piece of cloth she used to bandage his finger. "You are weird. But I  _like_  it." He froze. Maker, did he just -

Lenya's green eyes snapped up, seizing his own with an arched eyebrow. "There done. Be more mindful with Revas in the future. You could have lost your hand."

Maybe this would have been the less embarrassing option, since she could have hardly sucked at the stump... Maker have mercy on him, what was he even thinking? Groaning, he remembered to mumble out a thank you and went to dunk his heated face into the nearest body of water to forget this had ever happened.


	3. Gestures

He remembered it, because of course he did. Every time she looked at him after that night, in fact. When she spoke, it was even worse, for his eyes would flick to her lips and he'd be mortified when noticing. Alistair also caught himself watching her more and picking up on her mannerism and moods without words. Nothing odd about it, right? Lenya was his fellow Warden after all, and they needed to be attuned to each other to have a chance of survival. That was what he was telling himself, anyhow.

He learned a lot about her in the following weeks of travel, watching her closely. Of how she used her hands a lot to point and emphasize her words, when telling a story. How they balled to fists at her side when she was angry, or frustrated. She would pick at grass when lost in thoughts and fiddle with the buckles of her armor, if she was at loss for words or embarrassed. Unlike Leliana, she never covered her mouth with her hand when laughing... or eating. She didn't care about what people thought about her, was irreverent and free in expressing her opinion. She was as bright in her wit as she was fierce in battle.

Alistair grimaced, looking away from Lenya, who excitedly talked with Morrigan in the witches' separate, distanced camp. Okay, maybe he was fixating on her mannerisms a bit too much lately, paid too much attention. He was no creepy stalker after all, nor wanted to seem like one.

Despite that, he remained close after that, in and outside of battle, like a good fellow Warden would. Touches were shared more freely between them as well, became normality. A friendly gesture here in support, a touch of her hand upon his arm or a playful swat while laughing there. His hand often rested on the small of her back, after battle to ensure himself of her presence, her survival. Or gave her shoulder an understanding squeeze, if she felt down.

Nothing weird about it, nope. He wasn't falling for her. She was his fellow Warden, after all, and this only, _finally_ an easy camaraderie what had started so rocky and uneasy between them. 


	4. Falling

He was absolutely, madly in love with her. Well, in hindsight, this was bound to happen, right? As natural as breathing or sleep – okay maybe _not_ sleep with all the darkspawn in his head. But you know, as natural as eating, yes. One had to eat every day and he also saw her every day. Valid comparison, then. 

Alistair looked closer, behind her facade of hostility; the snark and scowling, until he couldn't avert his eyes anymore. Gradually, he cared more for her, until it was all he could do. Falling, in the truest sense of the word, unplanned and confusing. It was wonderful too, of course, because that was what Lenya was: A marvel, beautiful and resourceful and many more words ending on _-ful_ she would hurt him from saying out loud.

Touches had shifted in meaning once more through his awareness of his feelings for her. Each brush of her hand or squeeze of his shoulder filled him with an ache which existence was unfamiliar to him, new. Everything about it was, in fact. He was utterly lost in this novelty, like how would one go from here, with your fellow Warden, of all people? Not only that, she was Dalish and proud of it and he, well, was by all means not that. Just a human, bumbling and awkward. Would she like him in this way? _Why_ would she ever? Maker, the ogre among the darkspawn ambushing them two days ago, should have just finished its job and crush him. But no, Lenya had to kill it before it had the chance. Even in this she was wondrous, lethal perfection.

Groaning out, he let his head fall into his hands. Why was it all so complicated?

"You could get her alone in camp later, give her a gift perhaps," Wynne said, looking up from the book she was reading.

"That obvious, huh?" Alistair had spent too many months denying his feelings before, to, _well_ , have now no time left for denial. Who was he fooling anyway? Not the elderly mage, that was for sure.

"To most of us, yes." She chuckled. "The way you look at her, one has to be blind or Lenya to not notice."

"Great, that is reassuring," he muttered, picking at the bandage around his arm. Blasted darkspawn and their jagged, ugly swords finding the cracks in his armor.

"Stop fussing with it. You'll make it worse."

He made a face, but refrained from further commentary _and_ the fussing. Instead he watched how Lenya played with Revas and laughed as the mabari threw himself into the grass, onto his back. She started to rub the dog's fuzzy belly and - "If I would throw myself on the ground, would you rub my belly too?" _Mouth, this is brain_ _—_ what _are you doing?_ A notion Wynne behind him supported with a sigh. Yeah, talk about desperate and awkward.

Luckily she smiled into his direction, mistaking his blurted words for a joke. "Last time I checked, Alistair, you were not a dog but human." Yes, that was part of the problem, wasn't it?

"But I was raised by dogs, remember? From the Anderfels. Strict parents, that. Had no humor and _always_ scolded me."

"Oh right." Lenya hesitated, then stood up to approach him. "Well then," she said, ruffling his hair and escalating his heartbeat with her proximity and touch. "Good boy."

How easy it would be to wrap his arms around her and pull her in for a hug. His posture tensed, fingers curled to fists while the taste of want danced upon his tongue. Alistair swallowed to get rid of it, but the burn lingered. It always did. He shifted in his seat, her closeness distracting. "You have the second watch, right?"

"The third, after Zev. Why?"

Oh Andraste, take him. "M-maybe I can keep you company then?"

Lenya ruffled his hair once more. "That is sweet, but unneeded, _lethallin_. You have the first watch and should get some rest after that. Long day, tomorrow."

"Right." He tried to not sound too disappointed about her reply and watching her leave. There would be another chance, another day... probably. If the Blight let them.

"Oh Maker..." Letting her book sink once more into her lap, Wynne shook her head.

"I'm _trying_ , okay?"

"No, my dear. I meant the book, not you. Ser Beminton did go back to his wife Nelle, who is shrill and unlikable." She clicked her tongue. "The action of these characters make no sense."

"How fascinating..." he said with a scoff and got up to leave before remembering that he had the first watch and sat back down, pouting. _Next time, next time I'm going to tell her, for sure._

Morning came, too fast and not quick enough alike, and he could have sworn that the Lothering rose in his backpack had gained several tons of weight overnight as he shouldered his belongings, ready to leave.


	5. Love

This had been a disaster, because of course it was. Not only had she stared at the rose like it was going to eat her any second – No. The Maker-damned mabari then _actually_ ate the rose and barfed out single white petals as he ran away into the night. Which led to Lenya laughing and that a _lot_. A full-fledged snorting fit with doubling over that undid any of his heartfelt words before that.

He shouldn't be sulking, not after breaking the werewolf curse and securing the aid of Lenya's people. Well not her _people_ people, as in her clan, but _a_ Dalish clan. Close enough and suffice for the treaty, the third of its kind. And yet he sat here, in the darkness, away from the festivities and music of the elves' main camp. He was not sulking, _no_... just enjoying time alone, thank you very much.

"There you are."

Yes, hiding was difficult when your fellow Warden had a build-in compass to find you. Not that he _was_ hiding - Lenya sat down next to him in the grass, too close, ending all thoughts. Warmth and spiced wine she was, mixed with the scent of medical herbs and jasmine. The incense of it hang heady in the air, filling his senses currently not occupied by her presence. Admittedly, not many were _not_ occupied by her, given the flutter within in stomach and the heartbeat in his ears. "Came back to laugh more?"

"No." She shook her head, her long, blonde hair open and swaying a bit with the movement. She looked younger this way, more... free. She had to be, back with her people and familiar customs. "I came back to apologize. For Revas. For laughing." Her hands were folded in her lap, wringing a bit, fitting to her tense posture. She looked ready to pounce or bolt, or _both_. She looked up to him, the afar bonfire and star sky reflecting in her eyes. Like... literally reflecting the remaining light. As elf eyes had the habit to do, thus her ability to see in the dark. Even that was beautiful to him, weird as it may seem to others. "That wasn't nice."

His breath hitched in his throat as she scooted closer still, her hand reaching for his, the grip firm. She pulled him down this way and then... _then_ his brain fried and he _died_. Or at least he must have been, because Lenya pulled him down to _kiss_ him and this could be nothing but a trick of the Fade in his afterlife. Not real. Except that the press of her mouth still remained upon his, all soft and hot, spiced-wine breath. Half or completely dead, no matter, a moan escaped from the depth of his throat, releasing tension and letting him sink further into this impossibility happening. Real, then, not dead, nor dream. Small kisses, heart racing, all dizzying and sweet like the taste of her lips. Her hand holding his opened up to slid her fingers into his, intertwining, fitting perfectly. Maker, he loved the heat spreading inside of him, her touch upon his cheek, loved _her_. How could he not, ever? Impossible.

Breathing in deep, all jasmine and her, his exhale ended up between half laugh and sob. How was this really happening? Kissing the edge of her mouth curving upwards upon the press, he rested his head at her shoulder. Lenya shifted as his breath and stubble tickled the sensitive skin of her neck. He kissed the spot again, elicited the same reaction. Oh... _nice_. Also nice was finally, _finally_ being able to embrace her, momentarily only with one arm and hand, because he wouldn't let go of the other entwined one. No, never. He could stay like this, for the rest of the night, for longer, until the archdemon would descend down on them. Especially because her other hand brushed his head again. Not like she did weeks ago, that playful ruffle of hair, but softer with affection and care. His heart swelled in his chest, as if ready to burst... which would be bad, because then he really would be _dead_. But she _liked_ him in the way he liked – no _loved_ _–_ her, so much was obvious. Unless this was a dream after all and if it was, could he please never wake up again?

"But this _is_ nice." Lenya said, as though reading his jumbled, exhilarated thoughts, there in her arms.

"Hmm..." he hummed into her skin, unwilling to move. She squirmed away, creating unwanted distance through her ticklishness. Though it gave him possibility to ask the one question burning in his mind. "Why?" He cleared his throat. "I mean, I am not dreaming, right?"

She pinched his arm to show him that he was not. "Ow." Yes, not a dream. Good, much better this way.

Leaning back to look at him, Lenya gave him a small shrug. "I never had the chance to answer to the things you said. Before you bolted into the night, and all."

Alistair grimaced. Not his finest moment. Though could she really blame him, after all that? "Yeah..."

"And the rose... it scared me a bit, to be honest. Because for my people, a flower is a sign, a gift for someone you want to bond with."

"To bond with?" He blinked, even faster as the words and meaning clicked into place. _Oh_. "Oh..." He laughed a bit, the thought amusing. "So are we married now?"

"No, because Revas _ate_ it." She let out an adorable small snort, cheeks flushing as he tucked a wayward strand of hair behind her pointed ear. "But... I like you and I never got the chance to say it."

"So you kissed me..." He exhaled in wonder, understanding what just happened, at last. "You kissed me. Wow."

Her free hand started to fiddle with the sleeve of her shirt, the gesture clear. So he led the other hand held by him to his lips and pressed a kiss on its backside to soothe her nerves. "I liked it. This. Your hand in mine... _you_." He swallowed. "I have... for a very long time, in fact."

"Hmm.." she hummed, looking down. "So it wasn't wrong to do?"

"No. No, Maker, _no_ ," he rushed to say, nearly tumbling over his words. "Can I..." Why was it so easy and natural to _do_ , but hard to verbalize? "Can I kiss you again?"

This time, Lenya only nodded and waited for him to lean in once more. Good. Enough talking, more kissing. He could get used to _that_.


End file.
